“Where did he go?”

“The Realm.” Her response is short, like she’s closing the door to future questions about the false-blood. Or rather, the false-blood’s decoy, if I’m to believe Sethan.

“How long have you known him?” I ask.

She stops fiddling with the pouch on her belt and eyes me. “You haven’t mentioned his name in three days. Why the sudden interest?”

I shrug.

“Do you miss him?”

This time, it’s my turn to frown. “Of course not.”

“Most women fawn over him,” she says.

Is she actually suggesting I like his company? “He kidnapped me.”

She tilts her head to the side. “You don’t think he’s attractive?”

“He’s fae.” The words tumble out. Not agreement or denial, but they’re as heavy as a lie on my tongue.

Kelia’s face darkens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We don’t belong in each other’s worlds, let alone each other’s beds,” I recite, my voice sounding as desolate as Kyol’s the day he made the same statement to me.

“You believe that?” she asks.

I force out an empty, “Yes.”

Kelia’s tone turns acidic. “You’re just like the others.” She rises off the picnic table. “If you need a break, you can take it in your room.”

She starts to walk toward the inn, but stops midstride and pales. I follow her gaze to the trailhead.

A bruised and bloodied Trev limps into the clearing. Edarratae flash beneath a thick layer of dirt to disappear under a ripped and blood-soaked tunic. I haven’t seen Trev since the night I read his shadows. Including Kelia and Lena, only five fae remained at the inn. They’ve been watching me like hawks from the front porch all afternoon, but now they abandon their posts and sprint to the wounded rebel.

Kelia reaches him an instant before the others. Her words are panicked. Trev shakes his head, his expression grim. I understand a few words . . . Court . . . heal . . . gate, but then they’re all talking at once and too quickly for me to decipher. It doesn’t matter, though. The important thing is they’re 100 percent engaged in their discussion. No one’s so much as thrown a glance in my direction, and the eastern edge of the clearing is no more than ten little-itty-bitty feet away from me.

I don’t think. I run. Three long strides and I’m engulfed by the forest.

Adrenaline kicks in as I leap over a rotting tree trunk. I know the fae will have wards surrounding the camp, but I’m a human who has the Sight. I won’t exactly see the magical trip wires, but I’ll feel them, so I let my skin listen for a hum in the air. When a slight vibration runs across my left arm, I follow my instincts and veer right. The ward won’t stop me, but if I run through it, the fae will know exactly where I am. I ignore the branches whipping at my face and arms and push on, faster and faster.

The forest floor plunges beneath my feet. I shuffle-slide down the steep incline in a waterfall of dead leaves, and just manage to regain my balance when the land levels out. I have no idea where I’m going—everywhere looks the same—but I don’t slow down. I can’t. I’ve got to get away, to put as much distance as possible between the rebels and me, and find some way to contact Paige.

I run full-steam for two to three minutes before my skin tingles a warning. I skid to a stop, staring into the forest. It’s not a ward I’m sensing now. It’s them.

The thick canopy blocks out most of the sun’s light, and when the wind moves the treetops, shadows dance on the forest’s floor. I can’t see the fae, but I’m certain they can see me.

Shit. What am I supposed to do now? Run? Fight? Beg for mercy? None of those options appeals to me.

I turn in a circle. My boot heels sink into the damp ground as I glance from one thicket of trees to another, trying to predict the direction of their attack. A movement catches my attention. Lena. She steps toward me, sword drawn. Not good. It doesn’t matter that she’s a woman. All the fae know how to fight. She could kick my ass even if I were the one holding the weapon.

Okay, then. This narrows my options down to one—run—because I won’t beg.

I turn and flee. Branches whip my face and snag my clothes. I raise my arms to block the forest’s attack. Ahead, the ground dips sharply again. Despite burning lungs and a stitch in my side, I push on.

The underbrush rustles behind me, to my left, and to my right, and just before I reach the hillside, I trip on the wind.

There’s no other way to describe it. One second my legs are swinging out in front of me; the next my shins slam into air as solid as steel. I’m able to keep my balance long enough to grasp that Lena’s an air-weaver—an incredibly strong air-weaver—then another burst of impermeable wind slams into my shoulder. I pivot from the blow, my ankle catches in a thicket of thorned weeds, and I land hard on my butt. I might have slid to a stop then, but a third shot of wind hits my chest, throwing me backward with enough force to carry my feet over my head, again and again until I’m gaining momentum, not losing it.

The forest slashes at my skin and flips through my vision. Suddenly, there’s a tree directly in my path. I stretch out my arms to ward it off. A mistake. My right arm absorbs the full force of my weight. I hear a crack, feel a sharp explosion in my forearm, then I’m lying facedown in the dirt.

As the world grows fuzzy around me, I roll to my left side. My right arm flops as if I’ve grown an extra joint between my wrist and elbow. I try to ignore the white bone stabbing up through my flesh. I try to rise to my knees, but I’m nauseated. Dizzy. My vision blurs. Then, as Lena steps to my side, everything goes black.

SIX

“THERE’S A NEW false-blood.”

I tear my gaze away from Kyol’s shadow-trail. It’s been months since we’ve seen each other, but time hasn’t dulled my reaction to him. My stomach does a little flip. He looks the same as he did the last time we were together, the same as he did when we agreed things would be easier if we stayed in our own worlds. We were right. The way he keeps his expression carefully neutral makes my chest ache.

I sink down on the couch. My parents are out. This is the first time they’ve left me home alone since I went missing for three days straight. I wouldn’t tell them where I was—really, what would the truth accomplish?—and they only ungrounded me a couple of weeks ago, after I got my grades up.

“ A new false-blood?” I echo. The first one nearly killed me, but the fear I should be feeling is buried under a more potent emotion.

“You’re safe,” Kyol assures me, sitting on the couch as well. Even though there’s a good foot between us, the air warms with his body heat.

“Then why are you here?” I ask.

His gaze slides to meet mine. He doesn’t have to say a word. He’s not here for the reason I want him to be. Nothing has changed. The king hasn’t revoked the laws keeping us apart and Kyol has no intention to break his oath.

“I asked Atroth to send somebody else,” he says.

“Because you didn’t want to see me.”

“No.” His jaw clenches, then his gaze drops to the floor. “Because I wanted to see you.”

I hate the way his admission flows out on a wave of guilt. I hate the way I want to comfort him, to tell him it’s okay—that I’m okay—and I understand. I don’t want to understand, but he’s the king’s sword-master. He swore to protect the Descendants of the Tar Sidhe with his life, and even if being around me and my world’s technology didn’t damage his magic, he’s a man who doesn’t break his promises.